Might as Well Be Dead (18 page)

“I hope you know,” she added, “that I realize how wonderful you are. And how much I appreciate all you’re doing. And I hope you won’t think I’m just a silly goose when I ask if I can see Peter tomorrow. I want to.”

“I suppose you could,” I said. “Freyer might manage it. But you shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re the widow of the man he’s still convicted of murdering. Because there would be a steel lattice between you with guards present. Because he would hate it. He still thinks you killed Molloy, and that would be a hell of a place to try to talk him out of it. Go to bed and sleep on it.”

She was looking at me. She certainly could look straight at you. “All right,” she said. She extended a hand. “Good night.”

I took the hand in a professional clasp, left the room, pulling the door shut as I went, and went back down to the office to find Inspector Cramer sitting in the red leather chair and Purley Stebbins on one of the yellow ones, beside Saul Panzer.

Chapter 16

A
S I CIRCLED AROUND Saul and Purley to get to my desk Cramer was speaking.

“… and I’m fed up! At one o’clock yesterday afternoon Stebbins phoned and told Goodwin about Johnny Keems and asked him if Keems was working for you, and Goodwin said he would have to ask you and would call back. He didn’t. At four-thirty Stebbins phoned again, and Goodwin stalled him again. At nine-thirty last evening I came to see you, and you know what you told me. Among other things—”

“Please, Mr. Cramer.” Wolfe might have been gently but firmly stopping a talky brat. “You don’t need to recapitulate. I know what has happened and what was said.”

“Yeah, I don’t doubt it. All right, I’ll move to today. At five-forty-two this afternoon Saul Panzer is waiting at the morgue to view a body when it arrives, and he views it, and beats it. At seven-twenty Goodwin shows up at the morgue to view the same body, and has a woman with him, and he says they can’t identify it and goes off with the woman. He gives her name as Mrs. Alice Bolt—Mrs. Ben Bolt, I suppose—and her address as the Churchill Hotel. There is no Mrs. Bolt registered at the Churchill. So you’re up to your goddam tricks again. You not only held out on us about Keems for eight hours yesterday, you held out on me last night, and I’m fed up. Facts connected with a homicide in my jurisdiction belong to me, and I want them.”

Wolfe shook his head. “I didn’t hold out on you last night, Mr. Cramer.”

“Like hell you didn’t!”

“No, sir. I was at pains to give you all the facts I had, except one, perhaps—that despite Peter Hays’s denial we had concluded he is Paul Herold. But you took care of that, characteristically. Knowing, as you did, that James R. Herold was my client, you notified him that you thought you had found his son and asked him to come and verify it, omitting the courtesy of even telling me you had done so, let alone consulting me in advance. Considering how you handle facts I give you, it’s a wonder I ever give you any at all.”

“Nuts. I didn’t notify James R. Herold. Lieutenant Murphy did.”

“After you had told him of your talk with me.” Wolfe flipped a hand to push it aside. “However, as I say, I gave you all the facts I had relevant to your concern. I reported what had been told me by Mr. and Mrs. Arkoff and Mr. and Mrs. Irwin. And I made a point of calling to your attention a most significant fact—more than significant, provocative—the contents of Johnny Keems’s pockets. You knew, because I told you, these things: that Keems left here at seven-thirty Wednesday evening to see the Arkoffs and Irwins, with a hundred dollars in his pocket for expenses; that during his questioning of the Irwins their maid had been present, and the questioning had been cut short by the Irwins’ departure; and that only twenty-two dollars and sixteen cents had been found on his body. I gave you the facts, as of course I should, but it was not incumbent on me to give you my inference.”

“What inference?”

“That Keems had spent the hundred dollars in pursuance of his mission, that the most likely form of expenditure had been a bribe, and that a probable recipient of the bribe was the Irwins’ maid. Mr. Goodwin got the maid’s name, and a description of her, from Mrs. Molloy, and Mr. Panzer went to see her and couldn’t find her. He spent the day at it and was finally successful. He found her at the morgue, though the identification was only tentative until Mrs. Molloy verified it.”

“That’s not what Goodwin told Donovan. He said she couldn’t make an identification.”

“Certainly. She was in no condition to be pestered. Your colleagues would have kept at her all night. I might as well save you the trouble of a foray on her apartment. She is in this house, upstairs asleep, and is not to be disturbed.”

“But she identified that body?”

“Yes. Positively. As Miss Ella Reyes, the Irwins’ maid.”

Cramer looked at Stebbins, and Stebbins returned it. Cramer took a cigar from his pocket, rolled it between his palms, and stuck it in his mouth, setting his teeth in it. I have never seen him light one. He looked at Stebbins again, but the sergeant had his eyes on Wolfe.

“I realize,” Wolfe said, “that this is a blow for you and you’ll have to absorb it. It is now next to certain that an innocent man stands convicted of murder on evidence picked up by your staff, and that’s not a pleasant dose—”

“It’s far from certain.”

“Oh, come, Mr. Cramer. You’re not an ass, so don’t talk like one. Keems was working on the Molloy murder, and he was killed. He made a contact with Ella Reyes, and she was killed—and by the way, what money was found on her, if any?”

Cramer took a moment to answer, because he would have preferred not to. But the newspaper boys probably already had it. Even so, he didn’t answer, he asked, and not Wolfe, but me.

“Goodwin, the hundred you gave Keems. What was it?”

“Five used tens and ten used fives. Some people don’t like new ones.”

His sharp gray eyes moved. “Was that it, Purley?”

“Yes, sir. No purse or handbag was found. There was a wad in her stocking, ten fives and five tens.”

Wolfe grunted. “They belong to me. And speaking of money, here’s another point. I suppose you know that I learned that Molloy had rented a safe-deposit box under an alias, and a man named Patrick A. Degan was appointed administrator of the estate, and in that capacity was given access to the box. The safe-deposit company had to have a key made. When Mr. Degan opened the box, with Mr. Goodwin and Mr. Parker present, it was found to contain three hundred and twenty-seven thousand, six hundred and forty dollars in currency. But—”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Mr. Degan will doubtless confirm it for you. But the point is, where is Molloy’s key to that box? Almost certainly he carried it on his person. Was it found on his corpse?”

“Not that I remember.” Cramer looked at Stebbins. “Purley?”

Stebbins shook his head.

“And Peter Hays, caught, as you thought, red-handed. Did he have it?”

“I don’t think so. Purley?”

“No, sir. He had keys, but none for a safe-deposit box.”

Wolfe snorted. “Then consider the high degree of probability that Molloy was carrying the key and the certainty that it was not found on him or on Peter Hays. Where was it? Who took it? Is it still far from certain, Mr. Cramer?”

Cramer put the cigar in his mouth, chewed on it, and took it out again. “I don’t know,” he rasped, “and neither do you, but you sure have stirred up one hell of a mess. I’m surprised I didn’t find those people here—the Arkoffs and Irwins. That must be why you were saving the identification, to have a crack at them before I did. I’m surprised I didn’t find you staging one of your goddam inquests. Are they on the way?”

“No. Mr. Goodwin and Mr. Panzer and I were discussing the situation. I don’t stage an inquest, as you call it, until I am properly equipped. Obviously the question is, where did Keems go and whom did he see after he talked with the maid? The easiest assumption is that he stayed at the Irwins’ apartment until they came home, but there is nothing to support it, and that sort of inquiry is not my métier. It is too laborious and too inconclusive, as you well know. Of course your men will now question the doorman and elevator man, but even if they say that Keems went up again shortly after he left Wednesday night with the Irwins, and didn’t come down until after the Irwins returned, what if the Irwins simply deny that he was there when they came home—deny that they ever saw or heard of him again after they left?”

Wolfe gestured. “However, I am not deprecating such inquiry—checking of alibis and all the long and intricate routine—only I have neither the men nor the temper for it, and you have. For it you need no suggestions from me. If, for example, there is discoverable evidence that Keems returned to the Arkoffs’ apartment after talking with Ella Reyes, you’ll discover it, and you’re welcome to. I’m quite willing for you to finish the job. Since you don’t want two unsolved homicides on your record you’ll use all your skills and resources to solve them, and when you do you will inevitably clear Peter Hays. I’ve done my share.”

“Yeah. By getting two people murdered.”

“Nonsense. That’s childish, Mr. Cramer, and you know it.”

Stebbins made a noise, and Cramer asked him, “You got a question, Purley?”

“Not exactly a question,” Purley rumbled. He was always a little hoarser than normal in Wolfe’s presence, from the strain of controlling his impulses. Or rather, one impulse, the one to find out how many clips it would take to make Wolfe incapable of speech. He continued. “Only I don’t believe it, that Wolfe’s laying off. I never saw him lay off yet. He’s got something he’s holding onto, and when we’ve got the edges trimmed by doing all the work that he’s too good for he’ll spring it. Why has he got that Molloy woman here? You remember the time we got a warrant and searched the whole damn house, and up in the plant rooms he had a woman stretched out in a box covered with moss or something and he was spraying it with water, which we found out later. I can go up and bring her down, or we can both go up. Goodwin won’t try stopping an officer of the law, and if he—”

He stopped and was on his feet, but I had already buzzed the South Room on the house phone and in a second was speaking.

“Archie Goodwin, Mrs. Molloy. Bolt your door, quick. Step on it. I’ll hold on.”

“It’s already bolted. What—”

“Fine. Sorry to bother you, but a character named Stebbins, a sort of a cop, is having trouble with his brain, and I thought he might go up and try to annoy you. Forget it, but don’t unbolt the door for anybody but me until further notice.”

I hung up and swiveled. “Sit down, Sergeant. Would you like a glass of water?”

The cord at the side of his big neck was tight. “We’re in the house,” he told Cramer, hoarser than ever, “and they’re obstructing justice. She recognized a corpse and denied it. She’s a fugitive. To hell with the bolt.”

He knew better, but he was upset. Cramer ignored him and demanded of Wolfe, “What does Mrs. Molloy know that you don’t want me to know?”

“Nothing whatever, to my knowledge.” Wolfe was unruffled. “Nor do I. She is my guest. It would be vain to submit her to your importunity even if you requested it civilly, and Mr. Stebbins should by now know the folly of trying to bully me. If you wish the identification confirmed, why not Mr. or Mrs. Irwin or a member of Ella Reyes’ family? The address is— Saul?”

“Three-oh-six East One-hundred-and-thirty-seventh Street.”

Purley got out his notebook and wrote. Cramer threw the chewed cigar at my wastebasket, missing as usual, and stood up. “This may be the time,” he said darkly, “or it may not. The time will come.” He marched out, and Purley followed. I left it to Saul to see them out, thinking that as Purley passed by at the door he might accidentally get his fist in my eye and I might accidentally get my toe on his rump, and that would only complicate matters.

When Saul came back in, Wolfe was leaning back with his eyes closed and I was picking up Cramer’s cigar. He asked me if there was a program for him, and I said no.

“Sit down,” I told him. “There soon will be. As you know, Mr. Wolfe thinks better with his eyes shut.”

The eyes opened. “I’m not thinking. There’s nothing to think about. There is no program.”

That’s what I was afraid of. “That’s too bad,” I said sympathetically. “Of course if Johnny was still around it would be worse because you would have five of us to think up errands for instead of only four.”

He snorted. “That’s bootless, Archie. I’m quite aware that Johnny was in my service when he died, and his disregard of instructions didn’t lift my onus. By no means. But Mr. Cramer and his army are at it now, and you would be lost in the stampede. The conviction of Peter Hays is going to be undone, and he knows it. He picked up the evidence that doomed him; now let him pick up the evidence that clears him.”

“If he does. What if he doesn’t?”

“Then we’ll see. Don’t badger me. Go up and let Mrs. Molloy thank you properly for your intrepidity in saving her from annoyance. First rumple your hair as evidence of the fracas.” Suddenly he roared, “Do you think I enjoy sitting here while that bull smashes through to the wretch I have goaded into two murders?”

I said distinctly, “I think you enjoy sitting here.”

Saul asked sociably, “How about some pinochle, Archie?”

Chapter 17

W
E DIDN’T PLAY PINOCHLE for three nights and two days, but we might as well have. Friday night, Saturday, Saturday night, Sunday, and Sunday night.

It was not a vacuum. Things happened. Albert Freyer spent an hour with Wolfe Saturday morning, got a full report on the situation, and walked out on air. He even approved of letting the cops take it from there, since it was a cinch they couldn’t nail the killer of Johnny Keems and Ella Reyes without unnailing Peter Hays. James R. Herold phoned twice a day, and Sunday afternoon came in person and brought his wife along. She taught me once more that you should never seal your verdict until the facts are in. I was sure she would be a little rooster-pecked specimen, and she was little, but in the first three minutes it became clear that at pecking time she went on the theory that it was more blessed to give than to receive. I won’t say that I reversed the field on him entirely, but I understood him better. If and when he mentioned again that his wife was getting impatient I would know where my sympathy belonged if I had any to spare. Also he brought her after four o’clock, when he knew Wolfe would be up in the plant rooms, which was both intelligent and prudent. I made out fairly well with her, and when they left we still had a client.